Give me the gun
by frukforever
Summary: He could remember when Francis had told him those words. 'I have to go'. It was the worst thing he had heard since 10 minutes ago when Francis had told him to shoot him. An assassin on the roof top with a young policeman. A librarian holding a young boy in his lap as they read books together. Is there really any difference? /T for character death


**So, this is a roleplay I did at omegle. I was roleplaying as Francis and a British friend of mine was Arthur.**

For ten years he had been able to continue as an assassin without getting caught. He had risen from a poor orphan boy to a rich, popular "businessman". He had shot hundreds and hundreds of people to get there, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't regret it. But he had never really been given any choices in his life, he couldn't help it. "You have no chance to escape! Just lift your hands in the air, drop your guns and we won't hurt you!" He could hear the police speaking to a megaphone. The Frenchman was trapped on the top of a tall building, caught when he had been shooting his apparently last victim. He knew he couldn't escape the building; the policemen had it surrounded. His only chances were to jump and kill himself, to protest and let the police shoot him or to just give up and surrender, to spend the rest of his life in a prison. He had a few advantages still, though; he had kept himself in the shadows, and even though the policemen did know he was in there, they didn't know who he was. The other thing was that he had his gun, and with that gun, he would be able to shoot every target within a radius of almost two miles. Hearing the door to the roof open, he was move more into the shadows so that it was impossible for the other to see him.

Arthur held the gun in his hands, trembling hands, even if he did shoot him he doubted he would be able to get a target point. Brow quivering, he looked around, before breathing in, and shouting out "come out now and you will not be hurt!" his voice wavered slightly at the end. He'd gotten a call at 6 this morning about the chase, his shirt was missing a button where he had done it up so quickly, but he knew this is someone he had to get. Not that he knew why. They were going by a fake name but the pictures they had gotten of him seemed awfully familiar, not the hair, height or stature, what most police would look for, but the shifty eyes and the way he'd hold the gun. It just seemed as if he knew those eyes. He knew that he was here though, for certain, just...he didn't know where.

Francis felt his heart skip a beat. Even if he didn't look, he could recognize Arthur's voice everywhere, and he knew it was the Briton. This was only getting worse by every second. He didn't know which was his best option anymore; would it be better to kill himself or let Arthur do the job? Slowly, he sneaked behind the Englishman, as quiet as a man can possible be, and he placed his hand on top of his mouth, keeping him tightly against him so he wouldn't be able to escape. "Don't make a sound", he whispered quietly, hiding his accent, not wanting the other to recognize him.

Arthur widened his eyes, and tightened his grip on his gun, freezing and reaching down with his hand for his radio. But it didn't seem to be there, had he dropped it on his way in? The grip seemed familiar, the way the man's chest rose and fell, the way Arthur fitted into what could be an embrace if it wasn't from a man who had killed so many people. His eyes flickered up to look at the man, because people always want to see who's going to stop their heart before they carry out the deed. His eyes held some kind of pleading, almost begging to let him go. His life had only just gotten good, he'd gotten a job, friends, colleagues...he didn't want to die now.

Francis absolutely hated himself at the moment. He hated himself for hurting so many people, he hated himself for causing so much pain in the world, he hated himself for doing so much things that were wrong. But what made him hate himself the most, was the pleading look in Arthur's eyes, it was like the other was scared of him. "I'm not going to hurt you", he whispered, keeping his voice quiet, kind of mumbling, hiding his identity for as long as it was only possible. "Give the gun to me", he muttered. Sure, he had his own gun, but that was for long distance. He needed something smaller if he wanted to shoot himself.

Arthur shook his head. It was his first issued gun, and probably his last. He was a stubborn git, and wasn't going to give it up that quickly. "Y-You have your own g-gun" he muttered boldly. If Francis was going to kill him he'd need to let go of him to kill him with that gun, maybe if he let go for long enough, Arthur could run away and take a corner somewhere in this building. "Th-They're going to arrest you...m-might as well hand y-yourself over" he murmured, still stuttering despite the fact that Francis had said that he wouldn't hurt him. There was almost a foot in height difference.

"My gun is not suitable for what I'm going to do", Francis simply answered, tightening his grip on the Briton. There was something desperate in the way he held him; even though his main purpose was just to keep him from escaping, it was also almost like he was seeking for comfort. He knew that after all he had done, he didn't deserve to be comforted, he didn't deserve to be forgiven. But he couldn't help the pain inside his heart, he couldn't help it just how badly he wanted someone to care for him. It was too late now, though, he knew it. "Hand me the gun."

Arthur thought he had it all figured out at that point. "Y-You're going t-to kill m-me" his grip tightened on the gun, eyes childishly wide and brimming with a suspicious substance that looked like tears. He was only a baby, that's what they called him down at the station, 19, fresh from college, just a baby. "N-No...y-you're not going t-to kill m-me with my own weapon" he could feel the tight grip on his arm. Just a little longer, he just needed to wait a little longer for the re-inforcements. His radio buzzed a few metres away 'Kid? Kid? You okay in there? Did you find him?' but it only seemed to make him shake even more.

Francis took a few steps away from the radio with Arthur, bringing the two of us into the shadows. "I'm not going to kill you, I have no reason to do so", he said quietly, a slight comforting tone in his voice, though it didn't quite suite the situation. "Look, Arthur...", he whispered quietly. "I don't kill people because I want to, alright? I'm an assassin, a hitman, whatever you want to call me. It's never anything personal. You have nothing to fear, just give me the gun", he kept muttering with a quiet voice, wishing so badly that the other could just hand him the gun. He couldn't take this much longer.

Arthur shook his head frantically, shutting his eyes tightly. He hated that he couldn't see him that well now, breath hitching as he remembered what they all had told him back at the station. Once a man had killed another, he was a killer, no matter the occupation. A ruthless, bloodthirsty murderer, killing his own kind for...joy. Yes. That's what they always told him, for joy. But here this man, no, this killer was, telling him that he had nothing to fear. "N-No" his teeth were gritted now, tears running down his cheeks as he tried not to freak out. No...no no no no no. He thrashed slightly in his grip.

**"**You just don't understand, do you?" Francis muttered, biting his lip. He hated the situation he was put in, he hated to know just how much he was hurting Arthur. The other was still so young, he shouldn't be facing this kind of situation. He shouldn't be fearing for his life. "If you are not going to let me do it myself, then I guess you should do it", he muttered, keeping one arm around Arthur to keep him from moving, the other hand moving to grab the Brit's hand with the gun on it. He brought it over to his own head, pressing the cold pipe against his temple. "Pull the trigger."

Arthur stared up at him, he knew where the gun was, where Francis' hand was, where they were, where the police were, but he still couldn't find where his decision was laying. "C-Can't kill a m-man" he shook his head, hand shaking and digging the barrel of the gun slightly into Francis' temple. "C-Can't let you k-kill yourself" he stared up at him "ag-against the rules" and against his morals. But why should he not kill the man if Francis had no morals himself? Surely a man who had killed so many had lost all of his morals a long time ago. Arthur had no time to ponder this as his hand continued to shake "pl-please...don't m-make me do this...".

Francis looked into the other one's eyes, a kind of tired, sad look in his own cerulean ones. "Arthur... I don't want to do make you do it, I don't want to make you kill anyone. I'm asking you just once; let go of the gun and just let me kill myself. Let me at least have some dignity", he whispered. "I know that I don't deserve to be forgiven by you or anyone, but before you judge me, try to at least contemplate the idea that this was not what I wanted from my life. I never wanted to become a killer. I was never given any other choice, it was to kill someone or to die myself", he said. "And now I'm willing to choose the other option. Let me do it."

Arthur bit his lip, he couldn't...the court cases, the guilt, he was sure his life would never be the same again once he watched this guy blow his brains out against the wall. He needed to distract him. Yes. The radio buzzed 'reinforcements are here'. "H-How do you know my name...An-Andrew" the name on his file, the name that offered no resemblance to his own memories. He was sure...that it was something beginning with an F...yes...The blue and red lights flashed, reflecting against the wall, sirens, shouts, but far away for the moment.

Francis could hear the radio buzzing, and he was starting to lose his hope. He knew that it was really selfish from him, but he was not willing to go to prison. He just wanted to die, to end this all from himself and from everyone who ever knew him. "Not Andrew...", he whispered quietly, swallowing lightly. "Francis", he said, his voice almost breaking down a bit. He just wanted to go, to forget everything about this world, everything he had done, just every single bad memory. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a prison... Please... Just let me kill myself. It's the best for everyone."

"T-Tell me how y-you know my name...and m-maybe th-then...I will sp-spare you" Arthur closed his eyes, despite the situation, he found this embrace familiar. So he leant into it. And listened, felt, the erratic beating of the man's heart. He was as nervous as Arthur was, so surely he still had a soul. The Brit had never been trained to look at their perspective, see their way of life, but now it seemed as if he was looking into Francis'. That name...he tried to figure it out, relaxing even further into Francis. Francis. Francis Francis Francis.

Francis slowly let his hold of Arthur got even tighter, but it wasn't a forcing embrace anymore; his hold of him was gentle, almost loving. "You don't remember me...", he said, letting a tad of sadness appear into his voice. "It was five years ago...You were 14, right? We met at summer... I worked in the library back then. We met when I recommended some books for you, and we ended up spending the whole night in the quiet library... And we spent almost the whole summer together", he said, his voice getting fond at the memory. "You really don't remember?"

Arthur let his voice drift through him, closing his eyes as he listened to the gentle lull of his voice. "A lot of things happened..." it was getting more familiar now. "Maybe I wanted to forget..." or he so desperately wanted to remember. He looked back up at Francis "can we go back into th-the light? I want to see you ag-gain" his trembling lessened slightly as he tried to pull the gun holding hand away from Francis' head. The shouts got louder, almost echoing off of the corridor.

All of Francis' hope was lost. The voices were getting closer, it was only matter of time before they would get on the roof and arrest him. "Of course", he muttered quietly, bringing the Briton into the light with him, and slowly he let go of the hand that was holding the gun. Gentle as ever, he brought his hand to stroke the other male's cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin, never wanting to let go. "I missed you a lot, you know... I fell in love with you that summer...", he whispered.

Arthur couldn't help but feel as if he was getting drawn in by the devil. But that touch. It made him want to go to hell so badly. He kept his eyes closed, eyelids fluttering every so often in denial, no, his body told him to run but his heart told him to stay and listen to what he had to say. "You left..." the voice that came from his mouth was slightly untrusting, but he leaned into Francis even more, he didn't want to open his eyes. If he just kept them closed they could stay in the quiet library. He could block out the voices, just Francis and him. He could block out the light. Just him and Francis.

Francis slowly rested his head against the other male's head, breathing in the scent. Oh how he missed the times when they had just spent the whole night together, Arthur in his lap, both of them in the comfortable silence. That could never happen again, it was obvious and he knew it very well. But one can always dream, right? "I had no other choice... I didn't want to...", he muttered quietly, his arms gentle around the British boy. "My boss forced me to move with him... I had to go...", he whispered.

"Don't go...Don't go Francis". He could remember when Francis had told him those words. 'I have to go'. It was the worst thing he had heard since 10 minutes ago when Francis had told him to shoot him. "Don't leave me here...they bully me...you're the only one who treated me like an adult" he whispered, slowly turning around so that they were chest to chest. He could hear the shouts now. The Brit dropped the gun, it landed with a loud clatter, the noise rebounding off of the stone walls.

Francis pulled the other as close to him as he only could, his arms tight, almost protective around him. He had missed this kind of warm, happy feelings. It had been a long time since he had last time felt like this, so... So free from everything else. It was just him and his precious Arthur. "I have to go...", he whispered the words against his beloved one's hair, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment. "You know that I have to go... The minute they get up here, they'll take me away from you... Forever...", he whispered quietly.

Arthur felt the warmth. Those words. The explanation was so different to the last one he heard but yet it seemed the same. They were taking him away from himself again. "O-Okay" the Brit whispered, crouching down and picking up the gun, holding it tightly with a shaking hand before pressing it into Francis'. "I l-love you...y-you know that...right?" he looked up at him "I al-always will...t-to me y-your still the libr-rarian who r-recommended those b-books" he let out a chuckle, a weak, half-hearted chuckle. "Cr-Crime fiction...t-taught me to be wh-who I am t-today...thank you..." it seemed as if he could barely contain his emotions now.

Francis broke at those words. Through his whole life, he had thought that he was a tough man, that he could handle his emotions, but now, it was to much. He squeezed the gun tightly in his hand, but not as tightly as he squeezed Arthur against him. There were tears streaming down his cheeks, making him look just horribly miserable. He couldn't even remember when he had cried last time, and now, the tears just didn't seem to be stopping anytime soon. "Arthur... I love you so, so much... I'm so glad I met you back then, and I'm glad I got to meet you before I'm gone", he whispered, slowly leaning in, tilting his head down to press a soft kiss on the man's lips.

Arthur was about to reply but was silenced by the kiss. He stood on tip toes to kiss him back. The nearest door slammed down. 7 pairs of footsteps. The taking off of safety catches. The ever so familiar shout of 'DROP THE WEAPON AND YOU WILL NOT GET HURT' accompanied with a few shouts of 'kid'. The Brit flinched, and pulled back, reaching up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a childish gesture, he looked back up at Francis with wide eyes. Maybe this was for the best. 'YOU HAVE 10 SECONDS'.

Francis didn't seem to panic as the door was slammed down. He had seen Arthur before his death, he had gotten to tell him one more time after all these years that he still loved him very dearly. "Good bye, mon amour", he whispered, letting his fingers trace the man's cheek for a brief moment before he pressed the gun against his temple, swallowing a bit. "Thank you for your love, and... I'm really sorry... For all the pain I caused to you and any other person in the whole world...", he murmured, giving the Briton one last, gentle smile, before he pulled the trigger, his body falling on the roof with a loud thump.

And the only word that managed to escape his lips was a 'no'. A whispered no. Like whispering in a library. Whispering to a lover. Whispering to a friend. And then came falling, the closing of the eyes, the closing of his eyes, the blanket. A shock blanket. For people in shock. But Arthur was more than in shock, he was...lost. They tried to take him away, but he insisted that he was there when they carried the body down. Francis still looked handsome, Arthur would have said that the red brought out his lips, but the only thing he seemed to be searching for was the blue of his eyes. But it wasn't there. Covered by a white sheet. That seemed to be how life worked, concealed by a sheet. And to be honest, Arthur had only truly known Francis in those last few moments, having been as foolish as to believe what the police had said. But he was thankful, to have known Francis in those last few moments, and now to have known him always.


End file.
